


Hang Tight

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: From Paris with Love (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Angst, Blood Loss, Established Relationship, Fluff, Horror, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt Reece, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Partners to Lovers, Protective Wax, Romance, Self-Worth Issues, These two complement each other so well it's ridiculous, Vampires, h/c_bingo, hospital stay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: In which Reece is used as a blood bag and Wax won’t answer his phone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for h/c_bingo Round 7 for the prompt ‘hospital stay.’ 
> 
> This is set in the same hunters and hunting universe as [The Skin Job](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5347634) and is set after that piece, but this is also a standalone piece. These two are so much fun to write.

 

If only Wax will answer his goddamn _phone._

“Jesus, Wax. Come on, pick up pick up pick _up._ ” No answer. Not that Reece should have expected anything in the first place, not when it’s his (their) night off and Wax is probably out at some club drinking or shooting the place up.

Reece hadn’t been in the mood to trail behind him like a lost puppy and no doubt end up horribly hangover tomorrow morning, and miraculously Wax had let him be, probably too jacked up to drag out his ‘debbie downer’ partner. Reece’s thoughts stray uncomfortably now to the notion of Wax sleeping around on him, even though they’ve hooked up a little over a month ago. ‘Cause that’s just where Reece’s head goes when he’s tied up and has space to think, or really just about anytime he’s not too busy doing something else.

And while a month isn’t anywhere close to Reece’s longest relationship, it feels a helluva lot like it is. Maybe because they’ve had way more than a month’s worth of sex with Wax’s raging, ‘impossible to keep up with’ libido. Or maybe because the two of them have been partners for almost eight and a half months now and have been through more than Reece has been through with anyone, even his first partner, whom he barely managed to survive after he was eaten alive. Literally. Barely a year ago.

Reece still can’t think about it without waves of nausea roiling through his gut and clawing up his throat.

Even though… _wow_ , time really does fly by when you’re busy hunting down all manner of nasty things that the government doesn’t want the general populace to know about. With a hard ass partner that fucks and slaughters just as well as he throws around crude jokes.

Despite being assigned with - or rather, _to_ \- the most annoying, vulgar, jackass partner ever wrought by humankind, Reece has learned more from Wax than he probably would have ten years on his own. The knowledge and experience the guy has is excessively shown off through every piece of every case they work. Reece just has to deal with all the bad parts… like Wax’s disgusting eating habits and his love of ‘so cheesy its beyond overkill’ romance music, and even the guy using Reece as bait just because _it sounded like a good plan in his head at the time._ It’s a testament to just how good Wax is at his job _and_ with keeping tabs on his partner that Reece is still alive.

Early on, Reece was just glad that Wax hadn’t killed him right off the get-go and made it look like a disastrous accident, since it never escapes Reece that Wax’s record with past partners is sketchy at the _very_ best. Now, he’s just struggling to figure out the depth of their relationship, how much Wax _really_ wants from him.

Because his relationship with Wax is the first thing he thinks about when he’s been kidnapped, drained of blood, and is currently tied up and likely to die in this hole before said partner and reluctant boyfriend finds him.

 The more time passes, the more Reece _waits_ , the more he expects the worst because if Wax isn’t picking up his phone, then what the hell does he think he’s doing? The only excuse fit enough for Reece’s ears is that Wax is tied up somewhere, which is next to impossible because Reece is the one tied up somewhere who just barely managed to slip one hand free to dial him, and they can’t both be unlucky in the same night.

Besides, Wax is just too damn smart and too damn clever to get the drop on.

Which makes Reece all the more pissed off despite knowing he needn’t feel inferior. Despite breathing those words in every single day for some half-hearted pick-me-up, when reliving Wax telling him how strong he is and how smart he is and reminding him of all the shit he’s had to survive isn’t somehow enough. And still, the guy won’t get it through his thick skull that _all those things_ pretty much mean that this is the wrong line of work for Reece, despite it being the only thing he knows, the only line of work worth doing.

It’s just that with Wax he feels… changed, like someday he’ll amount to something and until then he just has to hang tight. Figuratively _and_ literally.

And Wax always has his back, even when he pretends he doesn’t. Sure, the whole daily confidence boost doesn’t exactly fit his crass, stubborn as hell partner, but Wax is too smug concerning his own abilities to play around with Reece to the extent that he a): gets him killed, or b): crafts some eternal fabrication where every surety he throws Reece’s way about who Reece is… is just nothing more than lying through his teeth. Wax is good at twisting the truth, even better at talking out of his ass, but Reece is pretty convinced that not even he would take it _that far._

Plus, he’s pretty damn sure the guy cares about him, at least as a partner if nothing else… so there’s that.

Unfortunately, as much as Reece doesn’t want to admit it, the only thing keeping him in one piece these days is Wax’s constant reminders that a): he’s covering Reece’s ‘impeccably firm ass’, which makes Reece smile now, and b): don’t eat Italian food on an empty stomach, _especially after you_ _’ve been starved for half a week, Reese cup,_ because apparently Reece needs Wax to keep up with his dietary needs on top of everything else that should be none of his damn business. They’ve eaten takeout enough times for that last one to branch out from just Italian food, much to Wax’s endless source of teasing. And Wax has always shown up when Reece has been in trouble sooner or later or _any later and you_ _’d be stuffing me in a body bag_ for that first one.

He holds onto those things with the skin of his teeth, until he ends up with bloody fingernails and a hammering head and breathing that’s more like panting and right out of character for someone of his caliber: C.I.A. operative, nearly six years under his belt at this gig, supposed to have it all together…

Except the _gig_ never gets any goddamn easier, only a bit more bearable with a guy like Wax to share it with.

Reece tugs at the rope still restraining his other hand as he hangs suspended, ice cold metal pole at his back digging uncomfortably into his skin through the thin material of his white dress shirt. He manages to get his recently freed and throbbing hand up high enough to tear at the rope several times, bloodying his fingernails further, only for his efforts to lead to nothing. Exhaustion plucks at his limbs until he can barely feel them anymore, until his brain has short-circuited enough to make him forget how he got here in the first place. He must have been jumped chasing down a lead, too stubborn to prove himself to Wax. Must have, not that it matters much now hanging here like this…

There’s a needle jammed in his neck, he can feel that much despite the cold, and he catches sight of a line snaking down into an IV bag dangling next to him. Some liquid is sluggishly seeping down his neck and below the confines of his dress shirt, and he’d bet all of Wax’s carefully stashed poker money that it’s blood. Even more disconcerting is a dark red patch at his waist, because he doesn’t remember getting that wound. None of it manages to make much sense to him, which means he’s been in here long enough for the cold and its ensuing disorientation to properly set in.

Reece rips out the needle with torn fingernails until he hears it clatter to the floor, but he knows he doesn’t have the patience or strength enough to check himself for more; hell, he couldn’t even feel the needle being torn out of his skin. He figures he’s been drugged even with the place as damn cold as it is: some kind of freezer, he makes out, before using his nearly useless arm, numb with cold, to dig out the phone in his pocket again.

Maybe Wax will pick up the second time around.

He hits the button for speed dial again, prepares to scream into the phone. The words die noiselessly in his throat after the first two rings, but he still waits for Wax to _suddenly_ get the bright idea to answer his phone, if he even has it on. Reece isn’t liking what’s going to have to happen next, because there’s no way he has breath enough to leave a message. He ends the call, thumb slipping and sliding all over the keys, and takes a breath that is anything but steadying.

Raising his hand to eye-level is impossible, and even though his head’s lowered from exhaustion and gravity, squinting makes his head feel like it’s on fire. Which means that Reece has to pray he’s typing the right keys and not _don_ _’t worry about me, wax. just fine._ He can’t even determine whether he presses the send button before he’s _drifting drifting gone._

* * *

 

Waking up the second time is an even more hellish experience, but the sight that greets him makes this sorta the best rescue ever.

Shouts wake him, reverberating around the small freezer. His eyes open to slits, enough to see none other than Wax laying waste to everyone and everything around him. To be honest, Wax hacking the shit out of the vampires who drained Reece to within an inch of his life is sorta satisfying. Okay, _ridiculously_ satisfying if Reece wasn’t bleeding out with every breath, taking forever to work up to calling Wax’s name to grab his attention.

“Wax on, wax off, motherfucker!”

“Wax….”

Something bitter and salty dribbles out of his mouth even with that one word, and vaguely he realizes he’s still hanging by his one hand from the pole. Wax’s hand stills in midair, machete poised to slice and dice further if he didn’t lock desperate eyes with Reece. One look, that’s all it takes, then he’s dropping the weapon and making it to his only partner in two long strides, hushing Reece’s long drawn out moan of pain as he presses something to his neck. Even with wavering vision, Reece catches the sunken look in Wax’s eyes as he glances down at Reece’s waist, bearing a wound no doubt far worse than the one marring his neck.

Reece gasps as Wax presses there, rigid with remnants of pain the cold won’t allow him to escape. His eyes are bound to shut in another minute, probably sooner, and his body can’t hold out much longer and he knows it, drops his head further down because it’s much too heavy to hold up. He’s relying on Wax to get him out of here because he really doesn’t want to die in this freezing, blood soaked freezer. To think he could have gone out like this: being used as a blood bag for a nest of vampires. 

Well, at least he _remembers_.

“Don’t worry, sunshine. You’re gonna be back in our bed before you know it.” The thought of it is probably the cause behind his blackout. One second he can feel Wax’s hand on his restrained one and the words ‘hang tight’ that he wish he could punch Wax for, and the next there’s a darkness so thick and so deep he can’t hold his head above it.

* * *

 

He doesn’t wake up in their bed, not quite, just a hospital bed with Wax slouched in one of those uncomfortable looking plastic chairs, arms crossed and head resting on his chest. Just what Reece needs: Wax throwing out his back _again_.

It’s sort of peaceful to see him asleep though, given there’s few occasions where Wax allows himself to look vulnerable and even less where he allows himself to _be_ it. Reece is always the one who ends up knocked around or tied up, bleeding in small, dark spaces until Wax puts two and two together and figures out his partner’s probably _not_ okay if he’s nowhere in the near vicinity. Even the rest of the time, Reece always wakes up to find out that Wax is already awake; that is, if he doesn’t wake Reece up with his obnoxiously loud music first.

Reece wonders whether he’s ever even watched the guy _sleep_ before. It seems like such a mundane thing, but come to think of it now he can’t recall a _single_ moment _._ It stings, the fact that they haven’t reached that stage yet where Wax will somehow just _once_ sleep past Reece. Wax is always there when he wakes up, cooking breakfast or going over case files, planning out the long days ahead of them, and it’s funny how Reece can scarcely remember a time where he _wasn_ _’t_ there. Even when they weren’t _officially_ dating, they still tended to share rooms, even beds if Wax was a dick and somehow managed to book the _one_ room with only the _one_ bed.

Even then he was trying to get Reece in bed with him.

It’s like he had to melt Reece down into someone Reece himself now hardly recognizes.

It’s a new Reece though, a Reece who’s a bit more bolder since his last partner, a Reece who’s a bit more tolerant and understands a few more jokes and laughs a little more than he used to, if he used to at all. He just hopes Wax isn’t trying to bring him down _entirely_ to his level.

So he takes the moment, despite his pounding head and throbbing eyes, and he watches Wax sleep. A part of him wishes he had his phone right now, because he’d be an idiot and would have learned nothing from Wax if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind to snap a picture, for blackmail purposes of course, but it’s even better just living the moment, plastering a grin on his face until Wax decides to get with the picture and wake the fuck up already.

Wax wakes slowly, wiping the drool from his mouth off on the back of his hand, then stretching tremendously until he _finally_ opens his eyes and just happens to look down; whereupon, he almost jumps upon seeing that Reece is awake, staring at him impatiently, grinning at him like he’s just caught Wax doing something he never wanted Reece to see. And that’s what it is, because even though Wax is always his annoying self around Reece, he’s still choosing his words and his actions, just in case Reece calls him out on it.

He _always_ knows when Reece is watching. Until now.

The look on his partner’s face for a split second is priceless but it’s only that, a split second, until Wax might as well say to be damned with it all. He pushes forward until his ass is perched on the tip of the chair, takes Reece’s hand in between both of his, and his face melts into what Reece can only describe as happy relief.

They don’t talk. Reece must look like absolute hell because he feels it, even with the morphine he knows is pumping through his veins, but Wax doesn’t make a jab at him and for once Reece is grateful. He’s not sure whether he can handle anyone else taking a jab at him, whether Wax through his words or those vamps with their needles.

Wax is always talking, always motion. He should be up right now pacing, talking a mile a minute until Reece slips back into sleep to escape him. He shouldn’t be sitting down right within Reece’s line of sight, staring at him like Reece almost died right in front of him and it would have been the end of the world. Wax isn’t _that_ guy, he’s melodramatic but not emotional, he’d pick up his bags and his life and he’d move on, never looking back because _that_ _’s_ the guy he is. And Reece doesn’t blame him for that, hell, he _depends_ on him to have that response, to not let Reece slow him down for even a second.

Wax should be who Reece knows him to be: the strong one, the guarded one, hiding everything Reece knows is there deep down with a rude quip and his feet on Reece’s bed, invading his personal space. Instead, Wax runs a hand through Reece’s hair, gently examines the bandage at the side of his neck while avoiding the one at his waist with a hard look, and rewards Reece with a smile when he catches him staring too hard.

He doesn’t want to lose this Wax so soon.

As the seconds pass, reality starts settling down around them, like a familiar but still somewhat unwelcome friend. Wax sinks down into it better than Reece does, who’s still trying to get his bearings. Within moments Wax’s feet are right where they should be: on Reece’s bed, thrown over his own. Wax stretches further in the small plastic chair, smile turning mischievous. “The text said your pants were on fire. Well… sorta. Kinda hard to make it out. Must have pressed a few wrong keys.”

Reece rolls his eyes, the pounding in his head going from bearable to jackhammer before settling down again. He thinks afterward about getting up to prove to Wax just how _fine_ he is, but figures out pretty quickly he’ll get nowhere with Wax’s legs preventing his own from moving. That might have been his intent all along, given Wax has proved himself to be pretty damn protective of Reece many a time, even from Reese himself.

Not only that but Wax’s face is tight, lines of stress around his eyes and dark circles under them. Reece smiles because he’s too tired to gloat, can’t help it, can’t help but rely on Wax being his own, selfish self, caring enough about Reece’s condition in his own way.

“And there it is!” Wax brightens, harsh lines dissipating enough to put Reece that much more at ease. He’s reminded how juvenile it is that Wax is always trying to get him to laugh or smile or brush Wax’s faults off like they’re nothing. It’s sort of endearing, or at least while Reece is lying trapped in a hospital bed and this time _voluntarily_ drugged.

That doesn’t mean he can’t make threats for when he’s dry again. “I’m kicking your ass the second I get out of this bed, Wax.” _And drilling you as to where the hell you were._

Wax, probably figuring that’s the best ‘thank you’ he’s likely to get, he _is_ making Reece in his image after all, winks. “Holding you to that, g-man.”

**FIN**


End file.
